


Lions To Scorpions

by AlmesivaMoonshadow



Category: Far Cry, Far Cry 3
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Seduction, Brother/Sister Incest, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Crimes & Criminals, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged Sex, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incest, Magical Tattoos, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence, Organized Crime, Other, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Pirates, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, References to Drugs, Rivalry, Sibling Incest, Sibling Rivalry, Underage Drug Use, Witchcraft, tribes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 23:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmesivaMoonshadow/pseuds/AlmesivaMoonshadow
Summary: Vaas tells Dennis the story of how he picked his own poison of preference.





	Lions To Scorpions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [13nsin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13nsin/gifts).



_“There’s glory and honour in being chosen. But not much room for free will”_  
― Elizabeth E. Wein, Code Name Verity

* * *

 

 

 

 

There's blood on the jungle-floor when Vaas slashes Dennis' head open.  
A thick, gaping horizontal red line across the man's scalp.  
One to match Vaas' own - now they were even, in a sense.  
Deep, red liquid tripping down his opponent's cheek.  
Leaving him to struggle to keep himself standing.  
There's a sense of satisfaction, if not victory.  
Relief, some sort of equality and balance.  
Now he knows what it feels like too.  
Now, he partially understands.  
What it's like to serve a serpent.  
Suffer for her needlessly - nearly fall over.  
Nearly vomit the contents of his stomach from the sudden trauma.  
Caught only by the overgrown branches and greying temple ruins surrounding them.  
Dennis Rogers nearly collapses on his knees, barely holding himself up, leaning on a mossy, stony pillar.  
Gasping for breath - patches of mud cover his face - pretending to be some kind of champion.

 

 

 

 

This poor fuck was being had and he didn't even know it yet, despite the condition he was in, barely clinging to life.

 

Vaas finds himself believing that the man had it well-deserved - he earned that wound from him, every inch and every drop of blood.

 

He chose a hill to die on, apparently, and Vaas was more then help him do just that, if necessary and unavoidable.

 

 

 

_-"She's told me it would come to this. That you were unhinged. What is it!? Jealousy!? Envy!? Stupidity!? You had your chance yet you squandered it away! You could've been a king! Yet you chose to be a lapdog! You could've been respected! Yet you chose to be used! You could've lived in the cradle of your people like a god, instead you're an over-glorified drug-peddler for someone else's profit. If you wanted to kill yourself, you could have chosen a far less painful way!"-_

 

 

 

Dennis managed gasping, grabbing his own chest as if lacking breath - his voice raspy, riddled with the occasional cough, yet somehow still finding the time and energy to espouse life philosophy, judge him and preach him on good morals even now - this motherfucker - those words weren't even his - they were very much Citra's - Vaas recognized every argument, every style of wording, every pattern, even the choice of expressions downright to the very last syllable and sound available - man couldn't even bother engaging him with his personal thoughts, feeling and opinions and instead chose to relay someone else' like the motherfucking cuck he was, playing the part of a living, breathing mindless courier - possibly, infuriating him with more then anything that might've wounded, hurt or slashed Vaas open during their fight - knives still out in the weary aftermath of what seemed like a showdown that lasted hours out in the rain pouring over them from the dark-green palm tree roof-tops surrounded by a hazy, clouded, blue dusk, offering some small respite - Dennis was ready to die for Citra here and now, in this bullshit-ass weather of all things, Vaas know that - he understood that - mainly because Vaas has walk down that road once before himself, not so long ago - in all actuality, despite how much he wished that it was all just something that happened an entire lifetime ago. Lovestruck. Lovesick. Lovefool. But, now? Vaas would only ever die for himself, out of sheer goddamn spite - precisely because it was always expected for him to live and die for a higher, nobler purpose.

 

 

 

Maybe he wanted to die for nothing - living for nothing, fighting for nothing.

 

Drinking, doing yayo, partying his ass off and getting plastered to oblivion - who was to tell?

 

 Certainly not her - she wasn't the master of him and his devices, not anymore.

 

 

 

_-"Hermano, don't talk to me about death, okay!? Because I've been there! I've stared that motherfucker right in the face. Like I'm staring at you right now. I gained this - right here! For her! And she never even thanked me! Not once! Now you got one too! Just like it! And she's not gonna thank you either!"-_

 

 

 

 

Vaas shot back angrily, pointing at the scar running down the badly, sloppily shaved patch of skin he left purposefully uncovered as a heirloom beneath his raised, gel-thickened black mohawk - a token - a living reminder of what happens when you love someone too fucking much - he earned it the first instance he's killed for her - or ever killed anyone, period - an entirely infamous affair - to, as he believed at the time, defend her from harm - protect her - nothing but a mere child himself - a brother standing up for his sister - but, the more time passed and the more he re-winded the film inside of his head - the memory - Vaas ended up feeling she pitted him and put him in harm's way precisely to test the limitations of his abilities and condition him to do unthinkable things for her from an early age only to find out and that he was indeed susceptible and willing to carry out her will, walking out severely injured in the process, on the verge of bleeding out and dying at his age, bearing a wound that never actually healed even though over a decade passed since the unfortunate incident - but, Citra, even then, firmly believed warrior marks were only natural - a part of the process - flattering and attractive even - a sign of maturity, power and growth - he was there, writhing in pain for months - suffering - patched up and drugged to be able to handle it all - unable to sleep, get up, eat, piss, shit or drink - and she was there telling him it was an honor. The greatest honor a man can get.

 

 

 

Now he was honoring her new pet the same way.  
Citra would instantly know the regards on Dennis Roger's face were from him.  
This is what she had a penchant for, right - well, this was exactly what her new champion was being rewarded with then;

 

 

Pain.

 

 

 

_-"Did Hoyt ever thank you for anything, Vaas? Did he? Is he ever?"-_

 

 

Dennis managed, covering his crimson gash with the palm of his hand, squinting one eye.  
His glasses broken on his face as he managed to look up at him questioningly.  
Ah, yes - the munition that's been used against him for nearly ten years;  
Hoyt - Hoyt this and Hoyt that and Hoyt and Hoyt motherfucking Hoyt!  
The tribe acted like he was supposed to die in the jungle.  
Like he wasn't supposed to start again after leaving.  
They readily turned him away - they didn't want him no more.  
But they sure as hell didn't want anyone else to have him either.  
Vaas smiled then, slowly circling Dennis in semi-disbelief at his sheer stupidity.  
Citra was angrier at the fact that someone offered Vaas a second shot then she was when he first started seeing her for the bitch she really was.

 

 

 

_-"He gave me an island! My kingdom! An army! To rule over, eh!? To do as I fuckin' please, amigo - I'm my own boss here - el patrón - and you'd do better to remember that!"-_

 

 

 

Vaas raised his hands triumphantly then, practically shouting - an echo spreading, only to disperse.  
There was value in belongings - being able to call something his, even if partially.  
Hoyt ran this motherfucker, yes - but Vaas was the judge, jury and executioner.  
He and the jungle understood each other in a way none of Hoyt's men did.  
The spirits of this place, the beasts, the old gods in the trees.  
The demons - the specters - he and them tended to come together as one.  
Citra wasn't the only one with Rakyat magic - except now, he used it for his own ends.  
Feeding the wild with his own sacrifices - with prisoners buried in the hand, hung from cenotes.  
Making living, blood offerings to nobody but his self - no one needed to understand or approve of that.

 

 

 

Vaas didn't expect anyone to, certainly not this pussy-ass bitch.

 

 

 

_-"How can he give you something that's always been yours anyway? Your birthright."-_

 

 

 

Dennis added with a chuckle, exhaling and inhaling audibly, temporarily stunning Vaas into silence.

His, birthright, huh?

Birthright.

He's been listening to that word over and over again for years from the tribe, the elders, his sister.

He's come to loathe it.

 

 

 

 

_-"If it's my birthright, amigo - then why did she make me fight for it? Huh?"-_

 

 

Vaas jabbed curiously, feeling the mirth playing deep inside his throat, scratching, tickling, moving like something that wanted to jump out - poking Dennis with his index finger like something that might be infected in order to probe him and get his attention, causing the man to shudder and push him away - why, oh why does everything with Citra need to come with tests, endless games, obstacles, an entire maze of quests, ways to prove oneself and pain - so much unnecessary pain - she never could just present someone with something and be done with it - she always had to complicate it and make it exceedingly difficult for you to get it and even when you did, breaking your back in the process, she wanted you to act like she graced you with a gift out of the kindness of her infinitely-wise, divine little heart - like the gods honored you through her instead of you painstakingly clawing and biting and cutting and molding your way through the shit-labyrinth she created specially with you in mind - this island was always his, yes - theirs - the island of their people - their tribe - their heritage - their ancient home - but Citra couldn't just let him have anything in life for the sake of it - not spontaneously - not naturally - not without the rituals and the bloodletting and the fighting and the inking and the waiting-periods and the cleansing and the ultimatums and a whole slur of piss and shit and dick - and even when you finally think you reached the end of the rabbit whole and reached you prize, she yanks it from out of your grasp, and makes you fall even further down into the abyss - meanwhile, Hoyt has made it seem so frighteningly easy in contrast - all Vaas had to do was be vigilant, catch whatever trespasses lands here, shackle them up, make them ready to sell and deliver on profits. Part of him felt he would be doing that by sheer default, with or without Hoyt, for the fun of it and purely because he didn't like imperialists and outsiders on his land.

 

 

 

It almost felt like being liberated.

Released from some invisible burden he didn't even know was there until it was lifted from his chest.

 

 

 

_-"To make you strong. That's why she did it."-_

Dennis hissed and Vaas nearly growled at him in both irritation, rage and sheer venom.

_-"I was already strong!"-_

He corrected, unable to grasp how putting him through a lifetime of bullshit was gonna make him any better.

_-"Stronger."-_

Dennis interjected even further like some sort of brainwashed, empty human carcass who wasn't even listening to what kind of nonsense he was even spewing at this point.

 

 

 

 

_-"Okay, okay, okay, how pussy-starved do you gotta be, hermano - to take her side that much, huh? Like, if it's that bad, I can set you up, I can hook you up, I know some lovely ladies that can finish the job and poof - all over. You don't have to make yourself look bad like this anymore, okay? Never humiliate yourself for pussy! Number one rule. From me to you. Even the rain is gone - see? Even mother nature wants you to stop."-_

 

 

 

Vaas snorted at that point, pointing up at the sky as if gesturing towards some illusive force up above, amused for the first during this encounter - genuinely amused - at the man's stubbornness, tenacity, cocksure attitude, lack of thinking, lack of integrity, free will, logic, common sense - anything - dripping wet from the cascade of water droplets and a warm, humid summer monsoon that's calmed down in the midst of their debate, washing the blood, grime, filthy and sweat off of both of them - no doubt about it that Dennis Rogers ended up enjoying his sister's company a little too much and that he fancied himself enamored - who wouldn't - she was beautiful, cunning, intelligent, sensual, seductive, mysterious - but, she was like a spider web - you think she wont eat you alive because she looks pleasing to the eye and because you could never imagine someone like her would be capable of such savagery, and then she fucks you over and does just that - eats you alive - doesn't even do it hastily - takes her time, does it slow, makes you ache and writhe and wish you never never even born as she picks you apart piece by piece, until nothing of you is left - by the end of it, she'll even convince you that this some unimaginable blessing with a greater purpose in mind and that you're beyond special for being feasted upon like this, and chances are, you'll believe her - the same this cocksucker obviously does - not leasing of all when Dennis practically lounged himself at him with his knife, still bleeding profusely from the top of his scalp, clearly insulted by the fact that Vaas would ever even dare suggest speaking of his precious queen in the context of begging for pussy.

 

 

 

Which he was, by the way - most definitely.

Clashing with the man blade to blame, Vaas even managed to sneer directly at him.

Well, if anything - he had to hand it to Citra begrudgingly - she sure knew how to play these suckers even now.

 

 

 

_-"Like, wow! Just, wow! You think you're gonna be special? You think you're gonna be the exception? You think that bitch is gonna crown you some kind of king when all this is done, huh? Is that what you think? That she's gonna let you father her babies? Bust her pussy open for you or something? Rule over the motherfuckin' jungle together, like in the fuckin' - what's it called - The Lion King, is that what you think, hermano? She's gonna drop you - pew - like this. The minute it's convenient, amigo - and you won't even realize it's happening until it's already done."-_

 

 

 

Vaas laughed audibly - a crude, cold, humorless thing - holding his own weight against his obviously fiercely enraged opponent, seething and attempting to push him and his weapon off and to the side and have another swipe at him with his machete even though he was severely injured - Vaas knew how much a wound like that hurt - he knew firsthand and just looking at it from up close gave him a bad flashbacks - but, there was something appealing and irresistible, in the primal sense, about men wanting to rule - far away from their boring lives on the outside, far from their unfulfilling jobs, their obligations, their mundane existences, their lack of belonging in the world that lies far, far from this island, their lack of feeling wanted, appreciated and useful, their lack of feeling special - and then a beautiful woman comes along and offers to take all that away - all that bleakness and nothingness and replace it with some kind of fantasy - a dream - some kind of movie - where she rules and you rule by her side - happy, in love, fucking around in the jungle all day and frolicking around naked crowned with wild-flowers and thorns - Citra makes men feel strong - powerful - desirable - whole - a godsend - a chosen warrior out of a vision - champions - heroes - warriors - she makes them feel like men - and they go crazy for her as a result, willing to kill to keep on feeling what she makes them feel as opposed to living out the dull boredom of being - what was Dennis again - an immigrant auto-mechanic.

 

 

 

Vaas knew men like this far too well.

They come to this island hoping to get laid to make themselves and their balls hang easier.

And then Vaas catches them instead of the lovely Wahina with the hula skirt they saw on the travel-poster.

And it's all downhill from there.

 

 

 

 

 

_-"How can you trust someone who dropped her own flesh and blood, just like that? She drops her own brother - her only living family on this bitch of a world - and you really think she's not gonna drop you? A nobody? From nowhere? Qué te crees, co ño!? You sure have the balls and the nerve coming at me like that!"-_

 

 

 

 

Vaas was in his face now, jaws bared, slurring and swearing.

His own twisted, wrathful visage reflected in the steel of Dennis' machete.

Thinking, that just because Citra threw him a pity consolation Tatau or two over the years.

That he had a more important place in her life then he ever did - that you can just go ahead and ink blood.

Ink brotherhood and sisterhood and family ties and natural-given, pre-ordained, invisible bonds of birth.

They may have had a falling out - but they were still connected and nobody could sever that.

Life sure comes at you expeditiously when you're proven the opposite.

 

 

 

 

 

_-"I can do better then to trust someone who's mind was melted away with drugs at age twenty seven. She's told me all about you, you know? Hoyt. How he got you addicted and off you go, running after him, leaving your people, home and traditions behind - everyone who's ever loved and cared about you - and all for what? For you monthly dosage of cocaine from an upstart newcomer? You're what they call a junkie, Vaas. Through and through. A junkie and a kin-traitor."-_

 

 

 

 

 

Dennis spat with more disgust then ever before and even the mere semblances of goodwill, toying around with his foe, cynicism and dark humor disappeared out of Vaas' mind he was pinned that epithet in particular - a junkie - kin-traitor he could deal with - he was wasn't a slave to the Rakyat - they didn't own him - his integrity shouldn't have threatened them in the first place considering how little they wanted him around to begin with - a Montenegro - a half-breed - an insult on their holy ancestral grounds - a stranger by all accounts - he was a free man who did what he liked, how he liked, when he liked and with whoever he liked outside of the duties of his job, which mostly included killing, ransacking, pillaging and blackmailing anyway - something he could live doing so far - but, a junkie - out of the tribe of all possible choices - at that moment, Vaas found himself nearly howling from sheer, unadulterated joy as he nearly headbutted the already numbed enemy who was clearly suffering from blood loss at this point, causing him to stumble over and fall - like, what did hermano over here even think Citra's been feeding him, putting into his food, cleaning his wounds with, numbing his arm with while applying his ink for all these years - or was he just in a state of complete and utter denial because the Rakyat somehow convinced him their drugs were purified and mystical and all-natural and ancient as balls and good and spiritual and the shit Hoyt grows out in his fields and meth-labs processed, chemical junk?

 

 

 

Drug addicts finger-pointing at other drug-addicts for being drug-addicts - beautiful - wonderful.

 

 

 

 

_-"Whoo, hermano! Implying the Rakyat don't enjoy a bit of sniffy-sniffy nose-powder! Amazing! Amigo, amazing! Accusing me, of being a junkie! Meanwhile, she, that bitch, she has psychedelics in her tea, herbs in her soup, coca-leaves growing behind the temple walls and peyote-cacti in the garden! The tribe - they were doing this before the chicken-fuck tourists that land on my island every month ever even smoked their first spiff. That's our history. Learn it, hermano! Learn it! Ten-Thousand years in the making!"-_

 

 

 

 

 

Vaas practically shouted as they sparred on.  
Every single movement, a sentence.  
Every swipe of his blade - an exclamation.  
Fuelled by the fact that Citra played with his senses.  
Practically making him her bitch, having him wasted and incapacitated.  
And then trying to use him as the seed needed to create a child of prophecy.  
Even when he trusted her, even when he would die for her, even when he was her brother.  
He could still feel the mix of herbs and potions under his tongue - so bitter it could knock him out.  
The same way he knocked out Dennis, possibly for the third time, this time around, in honest, sizzling anger.  
Ready not only to run him through but to collect the very head he marked and deliver it to Citra's doorstep.

 

 

 

Just throw it at her feet and tell her to keep that thirsty pussy-fuck as a souvenir - certainly something her visions wouldn't show her coming.

 

 

 

_-"You're lost! A blasphemer! How can you compare lions to scorpions!?"-_

 

 

 

Dennis questioned from the ground on the subject of Vaas' choices - one side of his face red.

Eye shut closed - blue and bruised - he was going to return to the tribe a warrior - all messed up and busted - just the way they like.

Raising his hand towards him as if to reason with him in the last moment, sounding somewhat desperate and bewildered.

Lions and scorpions, eh - this wasn't about lions and scorpions and which one is better then the other.

It was about Vaas giving himself the right to go with either, if he goes down the wrong path.

Mainly because he didn't like the idea of destiny because irreversible and definite.

 

That shit pissed him off big-time.

 

 

Made him feel confined and condemned.

 

 

 

 

_-"They're both gonna kill you, hermano. I just decided to choose my own poison - and she's been angry about it ever since. "-_

 

 

 

 

 

He crunched down in front of his foe, booping him in the forehead, right before standing back up.

Dusting himself off and disappearing into the jungle just like that, leaving his prey relatively unharmed.

Except for the token of gratitude in the form of a scar that he hoped would last a lifetime, just like his own.

Something for Citra - to remind her of him every time she looks at her newest audition in the lackey parade.

If Dennis ever called him after the rain completely cleared off that night - Vaas wasn't there to hear it anymore.


End file.
